As elsewhere in Sevilla, construction projects carry on.
The tempations are many but I spend only 2 euros for a book with illustrations by Maurice Sendak and a photograph of two young sevillanas dressed for fiesta.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Mercadillo
It is Thursday. I itch to explore, an itch that started upon discovery of Sevilla´s weekly flea market, mercadillo. Flowing along Calle La Feria for several blocks, it tempts with antiques, junk, clothing, and a shell game for gullible souls. Nothing daunts Sevillano drivers. Shouts and whistles pass back and forth to steer a delivery van as it backs clear of the tangle. The non-emergency ambulance trying to pass through, ¿quien sabe?
As elsewhere in Sevilla, construction projects carry on.
The tempations are many but I spend only 2 euros for a book with illustrations by Maurice Sendak and a photograph of two young sevillanas dressed for fiesta.
As elsewhere in Sevilla, construction projects carry on.
The tempations are many but I spend only 2 euros for a book with illustrations by Maurice Sendak and a photograph of two young sevillanas dressed for fiesta.
An Explanation of Time
Two days ago, one week flew off the calendar of our visit. And yet, there is an odd since of having been here twice as long. Each calendar day feels as though it were two. Breakfast to lunch is one day, filled with class, exploration or email. And then, there is this significant pause called siesta, followed by an entirely new day of additional work, walks, supper, more walks, a glass of cerveza or vino tinto, and finally, bed.
At lunch on Wednesday, Cristina invites a young woman, Vicky, and her novio to lunch with us. Vicky lived with Cristina two years ago while studying Spanish. She speaks easily and familiarly with Cristina. I envy their conversational ease. Vicky confesses that she still only understands 90% of her conversations with Cristina. At supper, I clumsily tell Cristina that I am impatient with my Spanish. She says to be patient; she says I´ve only been here one week! Should I expect to learn Chinese or Japanese in one week!?
At lunch on Wednesday, Cristina invites a young woman, Vicky, and her novio to lunch with us. Vicky lived with Cristina two years ago while studying Spanish. She speaks easily and familiarly with Cristina. I envy their conversational ease. Vicky confesses that she still only understands 90% of her conversations with Cristina. At supper, I clumsily tell Cristina that I am impatient with my Spanish. She says to be patient; she says I´ve only been here one week! Should I expect to learn Chinese or Japanese in one week!?
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Barrio Santa Cruz
Images at last. Though I love white space and creating an image through my thoughts and words, these past posts are like the glass that is half-full.
The walk to the TTU Center each morning takes through a confluence of small streets. These are some of the sights we see as we make our way through the neighborhood.
Sometimes, a door is open. A glimpse inside reveals the blues and yellows of the tiles, the green of the plants, and the cool breath of the air flowing from inside. A contained oasis.
Door and cabinet hardware is a study in itself. The shop in the building below specializes in this. The building stands alone on this triangular block. The apartments above the hardward store invite speculation with their acute corners.
Churches abound in every neighborhood, some plastered with posters calling devout pilgrims to the many celebrations of saints. We are told that church attendance averages only 10% or so though nearly 90% of the population is Catholic. It seems that in times of hardship, the Church did not deliver and the people do not forget.
An elementary school reveals itself through its wrought iron fence and elaborate facade of plaster.
An empty storefront becomes a community bulletin board ephemoral images, poetry, and love cures beckoning secular pilgrims. A poem laments the night.
The walk to the TTU Center each morning takes through a confluence of small streets. These are some of the sights we see as we make our way through the neighborhood.
Sometimes, a door is open. A glimpse inside reveals the blues and yellows of the tiles, the green of the plants, and the cool breath of the air flowing from inside. A contained oasis.
Door and cabinet hardware is a study in itself. The shop in the building below specializes in this. The building stands alone on this triangular block. The apartments above the hardward store invite speculation with their acute corners.
Churches abound in every neighborhood, some plastered with posters calling devout pilgrims to the many celebrations of saints. We are told that church attendance averages only 10% or so though nearly 90% of the population is Catholic. It seems that in times of hardship, the Church did not deliver and the people do not forget.
An elementary school reveals itself through its wrought iron fence and elaborate facade of plaster.
An empty storefront becomes a community bulletin board ephemoral images, poetry, and love cures beckoning secular pilgrims. A poem laments the night.
Morning Walk
The walk to the TTU Center each morning takes through a confluence of small streets. Leaving earlier this morning, we joined the first of the four walks to school that parents make with their children each day. To school in the morning, back home for siesta, back to school, and then home again. Some in plains clothes, others in uniforms, the children pull backpacks on wheels along the brick-paved sidewalks and cobbled streets while their parents firmly but lovingly pull their children along. Even the tiniest preschoolers trail their small packs behind.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Faith, Futbol and Fashion
Faith and futbol. Oil and water. Passion and order. Sometimes things do not mix well. Two local teams play the final game of the season. One has to win, one lose. Losing at futbol is not taken lightly:
http://www.diariodesevilla.es/article/galeria/437295/tragedia/heliopolis.html
Things were not pretty after the game. Some Real Bétis fans brought out the crowd control we had seen earlier. And later, those two rather major sparks of passion, religion and sports, came together at the procession we had also left. No major injuries reported but tempers flared.
Today the paper reports new graffiti on the walls of the stadium, demanding that the coach (I think!) leave or die.
Sometimes it is well to heed gut feelings, including those about one of my own passions. Fashion is everywhere here. I am in fashionista heaven. El Cortes Ingles, the department store mecca, is filled with incredible clothing. And, Zara, a major clothing store chain, is everything that I have read about.
Restraint ruled today. I looked longingly but only bought two magazines for fashion sewing: Burda and Patrones. Both include pattern sheets in the issue. The fabric department (tejidas) in El Cortes Ingles reminded me of the incredible fabric shops I grew up with in the Valley, and particularly, the fabric department at Joske´s in downtown San Antonio. The stock was small but exquisite.
http://www.diariodesevilla.es/article/galeria/437295/tragedia/heliopolis.html
Things were not pretty after the game. Some Real Bétis fans brought out the crowd control we had seen earlier. And later, those two rather major sparks of passion, religion and sports, came together at the procession we had also left. No major injuries reported but tempers flared.
Today the paper reports new graffiti on the walls of the stadium, demanding that the coach (I think!) leave or die.
Sometimes it is well to heed gut feelings, including those about one of my own passions. Fashion is everywhere here. I am in fashionista heaven. El Cortes Ingles, the department store mecca, is filled with incredible clothing. And, Zara, a major clothing store chain, is everything that I have read about.
Restraint ruled today. I looked longingly but only bought two magazines for fashion sewing: Burda and Patrones. Both include pattern sheets in the issue. The fabric department (tejidas) in El Cortes Ingles reminded me of the incredible fabric shops I grew up with in the Valley, and particularly, the fabric department at Joske´s in downtown San Antonio. The stock was small but exquisite.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Weekends, Students and Futbol
Saturday is not a day for slumming around in jeans and t-shirts in Sevilla. We dress as much like sevillanos as possible, W in slacks, woven casual shirt and leather shoes. He has not tucked in his shirt and worn a belt which would be more customary. I wear a skirt, brightly printed with a tank top. Though we blend in better, we are still a few degrees less formal that others we meet on the street, particularly those our age.
Perhaps it is the shopping and socializing that must be done. Perhaps it is the weddings and confirmations that must also be done today. We see evidence of both at the Cathedral followed by a military assembly, including small band, that gathers at the southeast corner of the Cathedral. They wait, tucked around one of the numerous corners opening into the plaza. At long last, they vigorously march in and stand at attention. But no one comes. Whomever or whatever is supposed to process or proclaim has not arrived. Starting from the ranks and moving up, one officer walks over to another officer, who then walks over to another officer. Motorcycle police call on their radios. We wait for nearly 20 minutes before deciding to move on.
To give our feet rest, we go for a double-decker bus tour, opting to sit below as the sun has already risen high in the sky. The route for the tour takes us through the neighborhood where the Iberian Exposition of 1929 took place. The buildings are still in place, and many have been repurposed. Some house government functions while others have become centers for the arts. The idea behind the Exposition was to facilitate renewed ties, primarily economic. As JB would say, this is "ironical."
Our bus crosses the Guadalquivir River into the Triana neighborhood where many of the ceramic tiles for which Sevilla is known are still made. It is also the site of the 1992 Exposition. Unfortunately, this exposition site has not been repurposed as well. Part of it has been turned into a theme park while other buildings remain vacant. Up river is the amazing suspension bridge designed by Salvatore Calatrava. It will need a closer look.
As we cross the river, again, back to the city center, we see many rowing sculls on the water and a handful of sailboats at small docks. Looking downriver, we are amazed to see the height of the masts. The bridge downriver of the boats is double; however, a drawbridge section seems to be permanently raised while the section with vehicle traffic doesn´t appear to move!
At 5pm we meet all of the students, save two who have not yet arrived. One we know is having a partial appendectomy via laproscopy so that he can travel sooner. The other simply has not arrived. Orientation is excrutiatingly long for most of them. After dinner, though, many are out on the town. Some take in a movie while others fall in with AM, a Venezuelan student, who has been in town since Thursday. AM, a high-energy organizer, has already scoped out things and is ready to lead everyone who is willing into the Spanish nightlife. They make it back to the hotel around 4am Sunday, a common time for calling it a Saturday night.
Sunday morning, they meet their Spanish moms. We look forward to their stories of adaption. A handful are fluent in Spanish; others who have studied it in high school. Placed as pairs, they should be able to cope between the two of them.
The morning is unusually cool, to date, so we sit, sipping coffee, in the café across the street from our home. Everywhere we look there are futbol fans, enrobed in team colors. With exuberant ease, they break into songs that boast of their team. After siesta, we decifer the bus system and ride to the stadium. We know we are heading in the right direction because the team colors become increasingly visible.
The stadium explodes into view. Masses of people surround it, competing seas of green and purple. We make our way to the ticket windows but are told by scalpers that theirs are the only tickets available. We bargain unsuccessfully and opt to wait until the game starts to see if the prices go down. As we wait, the crowd grows and more crowd control officials begin to filter in. It is a bit intimidating. Mounted police move through the throng, the size of their horses testifying to their potential. Overwhelmed, we head back to the bus stop and make our way back to more familiar territory.
Caracoles (snails) are in season. Just a few days before Hay caracoles is written in chalk on the menu boards at cafés and tapas bars. Today, we hunt for more than an hour before we finally find one. Small but very tasty with a Cruzcampos cerveza.
Home for supper and then out again. We encounter masses of people filling the narrow streets near the Plaza Nueva. It is a procession for a saint, the iconic statue held aloft by unseen hands and shoulders. Ablaze in gold, it floats above the heads of the gathered people. No camera!
Rule: Always take a camera everywhere, all of the time!
Perhaps it is the shopping and socializing that must be done. Perhaps it is the weddings and confirmations that must also be done today. We see evidence of both at the Cathedral followed by a military assembly, including small band, that gathers at the southeast corner of the Cathedral. They wait, tucked around one of the numerous corners opening into the plaza. At long last, they vigorously march in and stand at attention. But no one comes. Whomever or whatever is supposed to process or proclaim has not arrived. Starting from the ranks and moving up, one officer walks over to another officer, who then walks over to another officer. Motorcycle police call on their radios. We wait for nearly 20 minutes before deciding to move on.
To give our feet rest, we go for a double-decker bus tour, opting to sit below as the sun has already risen high in the sky. The route for the tour takes us through the neighborhood where the Iberian Exposition of 1929 took place. The buildings are still in place, and many have been repurposed. Some house government functions while others have become centers for the arts. The idea behind the Exposition was to facilitate renewed ties, primarily economic. As JB would say, this is "ironical."
Our bus crosses the Guadalquivir River into the Triana neighborhood where many of the ceramic tiles for which Sevilla is known are still made. It is also the site of the 1992 Exposition. Unfortunately, this exposition site has not been repurposed as well. Part of it has been turned into a theme park while other buildings remain vacant. Up river is the amazing suspension bridge designed by Salvatore Calatrava. It will need a closer look.
As we cross the river, again, back to the city center, we see many rowing sculls on the water and a handful of sailboats at small docks. Looking downriver, we are amazed to see the height of the masts. The bridge downriver of the boats is double; however, a drawbridge section seems to be permanently raised while the section with vehicle traffic doesn´t appear to move!
At 5pm we meet all of the students, save two who have not yet arrived. One we know is having a partial appendectomy via laproscopy so that he can travel sooner. The other simply has not arrived. Orientation is excrutiatingly long for most of them. After dinner, though, many are out on the town. Some take in a movie while others fall in with AM, a Venezuelan student, who has been in town since Thursday. AM, a high-energy organizer, has already scoped out things and is ready to lead everyone who is willing into the Spanish nightlife. They make it back to the hotel around 4am Sunday, a common time for calling it a Saturday night.
Sunday morning, they meet their Spanish moms. We look forward to their stories of adaption. A handful are fluent in Spanish; others who have studied it in high school. Placed as pairs, they should be able to cope between the two of them.
The morning is unusually cool, to date, so we sit, sipping coffee, in the café across the street from our home. Everywhere we look there are futbol fans, enrobed in team colors. With exuberant ease, they break into songs that boast of their team. After siesta, we decifer the bus system and ride to the stadium. We know we are heading in the right direction because the team colors become increasingly visible.
The stadium explodes into view. Masses of people surround it, competing seas of green and purple. We make our way to the ticket windows but are told by scalpers that theirs are the only tickets available. We bargain unsuccessfully and opt to wait until the game starts to see if the prices go down. As we wait, the crowd grows and more crowd control officials begin to filter in. It is a bit intimidating. Mounted police move through the throng, the size of their horses testifying to their potential. Overwhelmed, we head back to the bus stop and make our way back to more familiar territory.
Caracoles (snails) are in season. Just a few days before Hay caracoles is written in chalk on the menu boards at cafés and tapas bars. Today, we hunt for more than an hour before we finally find one. Small but very tasty with a Cruzcampos cerveza.
Home for supper and then out again. We encounter masses of people filling the narrow streets near the Plaza Nueva. It is a procession for a saint, the iconic statue held aloft by unseen hands and shoulders. Ablaze in gold, it floats above the heads of the gathered people. No camera!
Rule: Always take a camera everywhere, all of the time!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
España - Day 3
Christina is gone when we get back to the house Friday evening. The promise to her mother to participate in El Rocio is important but her gleaming eyes and animated description tell me that she expects to have much fun.
The refrigerator is full of food. She has carefully prepared all of our meals until she returns, making sure to introduce us to more sevillaño food. Tonight´s supper, per Christina´s instructions, consists of more of her wonderful gazpacho-light, crisp but not heavily spiced; tortilla, a delicate omelet of eggs and mashed potatoes; and sautéed squash seasoned only with sea salt. Christina says that the sea salt available in Seville is the best in the world! We are determined to taste everything but won´t come close to eating all that she has prepared.
After supper at 9:30pm, we stroll through the neighborhood to the Cathedral and to the shopping neighborhood beyond. We see more people than ever; it is Friday night, after all - fin de semana, time for food, family and friends. The sidewalk cafés and tapas bar beckon with delicious smells. Caracoles (snails) are in season!
The Cathedral is beautiful and impressive with the Giralda, the symbol of Seville, rising solid, ancient in the evening sky. The list of announcements at the Cathedral´s gate is filled with confirmations. Weddings are not listed though this is wedding season. The remnants of one slowly dissolve into the evening. We save a tour for another day.
We walk along Avd. De la Constitución, watching carefully for the smoothly silent electric tram that glides down the middle. High end shops fill the storefronts, and the stylish sevillaños are testament to their popularity. We intend to shop, too, as we learn from what we see on the street.
Though not acculturated, we do blend in fairly well—except for my gray hair. I am a curiosity for someone my age. Gray hair is almost universally avoided, a necessary expense, it seems, for sevillañas. W says that I should throw caution to the wind and color my hair. I´m not convinced. I like being different.
¡Bastante! Enough! Our feet are tired, not yet in shape for the many kilometers of cobbled street.
The refrigerator is full of food. She has carefully prepared all of our meals until she returns, making sure to introduce us to more sevillaño food. Tonight´s supper, per Christina´s instructions, consists of more of her wonderful gazpacho-light, crisp but not heavily spiced; tortilla, a delicate omelet of eggs and mashed potatoes; and sautéed squash seasoned only with sea salt. Christina says that the sea salt available in Seville is the best in the world! We are determined to taste everything but won´t come close to eating all that she has prepared.
After supper at 9:30pm, we stroll through the neighborhood to the Cathedral and to the shopping neighborhood beyond. We see more people than ever; it is Friday night, after all - fin de semana, time for food, family and friends. The sidewalk cafés and tapas bar beckon with delicious smells. Caracoles (snails) are in season!
The Cathedral is beautiful and impressive with the Giralda, the symbol of Seville, rising solid, ancient in the evening sky. The list of announcements at the Cathedral´s gate is filled with confirmations. Weddings are not listed though this is wedding season. The remnants of one slowly dissolve into the evening. We save a tour for another day.
We walk along Avd. De la Constitución, watching carefully for the smoothly silent electric tram that glides down the middle. High end shops fill the storefronts, and the stylish sevillaños are testament to their popularity. We intend to shop, too, as we learn from what we see on the street.
Though not acculturated, we do blend in fairly well—except for my gray hair. I am a curiosity for someone my age. Gray hair is almost universally avoided, a necessary expense, it seems, for sevillañas. W says that I should throw caution to the wind and color my hair. I´m not convinced. I like being different.
¡Bastante! Enough! Our feet are tired, not yet in shape for the many kilometers of cobbled street.
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